


In The Evening

by sequence_fairy



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 23:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6775168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichigo thinks Rukia works too hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Evening

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hashtagartistlife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hashtagartistlife/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Sera! <3

The division grounds are quiet at this hour of the night, and Rukia sighs and puts down her pen. She’s been filing requisition forms for the last four hours – catching up on all the paperwork she missed during her last foray down to the human world – and she can feel the tension in her shoulders curling up into her neck. She is the _de facto_ captain these days, with Ukitake- _taichou_ on light duty, and she should really find someone to delegate this paperwork to, but she’s always been a perfectionist and it’s easier just do it herself. This way, it’s done right the first time.  
  
Ichigo never seems to have this much paperwork to do. He always seems to get home before her these days, and spends his leisure time sparring with Renji and Byakuya behind the Kuchiki villa. She doesn’t envy him the time spent away from his division, the transition to full-time _Shinigami_ has been harder on him than most people realise – he misses his family keenly – but she does envy his support staff. People fall all over themselves to help Kurosaki- _taichou_ and she supposes he deserves it – he did save all of them, but she was there too and no one jumps to Kuchiki- _fukutaichou_ ’s aid.  
  
She grimaces, the self-centredness of that thought making her gut twist. She does not begrudge him the help that he receives, she absolutely does not. She is just tired and hungry and all the requisition requests are running together and her signature is getting messier and messier every time she signs her name.  
  
The rustling of the blinds on her office window signals someone’s arrival.

Ichigo stumbles out of _shunpo_ onto the centre of her desk. Papers swirl around him and land, scattered throughout the room. Rukia looks at the mess and then back to Ichigo. He has the grace to look contrite, and hops down off her desk.  
  
“Sorry,” he says, and Rukia sighs. It’s not like she was really going to get any more done tonight, but now she has to re-organize everything into stacks.  
  
“Ichigo! Can’t you use the door like a normal person?  Honestly, it’s like you just learned bloody _shunpo_!” Rukia snaps. Ichigo looks taken aback, and raises his hands in surrender.  
  
“I said I was sorry. Jeez Rukia. What crawled up your ass and died?”  
  
Rukia’s anger evaporates. “I’m sorry Ichigo,” she says, “I’m just tired.”  
  
“And hungry I’ll bet – you always get snarly when you haven’t eaten.” He tosses her a package of cookies that he’s dug out of his robes. “Eat those, I’ll clean this up, and we can get out of here. Deal?”  
  
Rukia raises an eyebrow but accepts the cookies and tears open the package while she watches Ichigo gather up her paperwork. He dumps the pile unceremoniously on her desk and Rukia shakes her head.  
  
“You can’t leave it like that,” she protests, and Ichigo shrugs. “No, really, you can’t. I have to get this back in order. It’ll take me fifteen minutes. Wait for me?”  
  
Ichigo nods. “Fine, but eat the damn cookies. I don’t want to get into bed with a hungry hellcat tonight.”  
  
“Hellcat!?” Rukia screeches, rounding on him. Ichigo motions to the bag of cookies she is crushing in her hands. There’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes and Rukia deflates. He’s poking fun, he knows she’s tired and hungry and is taking advantage of that. “You utter bastard,” she grouses, but eats a cookie. It’s the first thing she’s eaten since breakfast – which was a _very_ long time ago – and it tastes much better than it ought to, considering.  
  
She can feel Ichigo watching her while she sorts through the paperwork; his gaze is like a living thing on her skin. When his hands land on her shoulders, fingers digging deep into the taut muscles, she has to bite her cheek to stop herself from moaning. Ichigo hears the aborted noise anyway and digs his thumbs in harder.  
  
“What do you do to yourself Rukia?” he asks, as she arches under the pressure of his hands, “eat stress for breakfast? You need to _relax_.”

Rukia leans forward, hands pressed into the surface of her desk. Ichigo presses his thumbs into the space on either side of her spine near the base of her neck and she drops her head down to her chest.  He crowds her into the desk, and Rukia feels the edge of it digging into the tops of her thighs. “Ichigo,” she says, “what’re you –”

“Stop,” he says, and spins her around. “You need to stop. Just for a minute.”

“I can’t!” She cries, “there’s so much to do! I have to do the requisitions, I have to organize the training schedule - which reminds me, I need to see Ukitake- _taichou_ about some of choices that were made for recruits, I’m chairing the Women’s Association meeting this week –”

Ichigo shuts her up by slanting his mouth over hers and kissing her into silence.

“Ichigo,” Rukia says when he lifts his head, “you can’t just kiss me to get to me to –”

He does it again. This time, Rukia does give in, and Ichigo presses her back against her desk, his hands on her hips. Rukia lets herself melt into the kiss, lets him lean her back, lets him drag his mouth away from hers and down the side of her neck. “We can’t do this here,” Rukia objects, but Ichigo’s teeth find the join of her neck and her shoulder and she gasps. “Really, Ichigo,” Rukia tries again, but Ichigo’s hands come up from her hips to tug the collar of her _shihakushou_ open and bare her shoulders.

“‘Really’ what, Rukia?” Ichigo asks, voice gone gravelly around the edges. He kisses a path across her collarbones.

“We can’t do this here,” she says again, breathless. Ichigo palms one of her breasts, then drops his head. His mouth is wet heat against her skin and Rukia knows she’s going to give in, knows she’s going to let him do whatever he wants here in her office, because she’s helpless to resist the tug of desire in her belly and she loves the way he sets fire to her blood.

“I think we’re already doing it.” Ichigo unties her belt and pushes her flat onto her back. Paperwork crinkles under her.

“Not on the desk Ichigo,” Rukia protests, but it sounds weak even to her own ears, and the wicked grin on Ichigo’s face says he knows she’s giving in. “At least let me put the requisitions away –” she says, and trails off in hitching moan as his mouth closes over her breast. He’s leaning over her, propping himself up on one hand while the other is busy getting her out of her clothes. He worries at her breast with his teeth and tongue, and Rukia gives up pretending that she is not going along with this and arches into his mouth.

“That’s more like it,” he says when he lifts his head, voice gone husky.

“Bastard,” Rukia says without heat, and then lets her head fall back as Ichigo’s mouth traces a path down her middle, across the planes of her stomach. He drops back into her chair, and tugs her forward by the backs of her knees. She slides across the desk, and when he looks at her down the length of her body, his eyes heat and Rukia feels the answering tug in the base of her spine.

He hooks her knees over his shoulders and dives in. Rukia forgets the paperwork under her back, forgets the training regime she can’t seem to manage to work out, forgets everything but the heat of Ichigo’s mouth and the wet slide of his tongue against her. She arches into him, canting her hips to get his mouth where she wants it.

He doesn’t make her wait; instead he slides two fingers in, and Rukia grits her teeth against the moan that wants to leap out of her mouth. Ichigo lifts his head, hand still moving inside her. “Go on,” he urges and licks his lips. “There’s no one around.” His thumb swipes along her clit. “I checked.”

“God,” Rukia moans, and it ends in a squeal of pleasure as he turns his fingers just so. “You checked?” she asks, and Ichigo hums affirmatively. Rukia gasps at the vibration of his mouth. “Ichigo,” she pleads, “please.”

He licks a stripe up her centre, and Rukia arches off her desk, his name a keening whimper that escapes her lips in a rush. She swears viciously when he sinks another finger in and keeps up with his tongue, using his other arm to hold her hips down on against the unforgiving surface of her desk.

He drives her on - mouth and hands working in tandem - and she can’t stop the noises coming out of her mouth. It’s his name, interspersed with creative curses and choked off gasps as he winds her tighter and tighter. The sparking coil of heat in the base of her gut tightens and Ichigo murmurs something unintelligible into the soft skin of her inner thigh.

She cracks an eye open and looks at him. He’s watching her, darkened eyes lit from within with banked heat. She can feel the slip-slide of his _reiatsu_ against hers, and then he dips his head again to taste her.

The coil in her gut explodes; Rukia loses her last tenuous grip on her own control, and her _reiatsu_ spirals up and out and she is carried away with it. The rush of her climax steals the breath from her lungs and leaves her feeling both lighter than air and as if she is melting into the surface of the desk.

Distantly, she is aware of someone saying her name, and the concern in his voice bleeds through into the haze of ecstasy that has stolen over all of her senses.

She blinks.

She blinks again.

This time, the room resolves itself back into focus and Ichigo is leaning over her, face centimetres from hers and now his eyes hold only concern - none of the fire that was there before. “Are you –” he pauses, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Rukia flinches as heat spreads again through her gut, tingling in the sensitive flesh between her thighs.

“Ichigo,” she breathes, and there it is - the cat-in-the-cream smile is stealing over his face. He leans in and kisses her soundly, and Rukia’s body curves into his.

He makes short work of the layers between them, and then he’s sliding inside her and bracing himself with one hand planted on the desk near her head and the other on her hip. His grip is strong enough to bruise and the snap of his hips against hers drives her into the desk and she is going to feel that in the morning but for now, she just holds on, ankles locked around the small of his back and her hands dug into the softness of his sides.

He grunts in her ear, and Rukia meets his next thrust with a roll of her own hips and his breath comes out of him in a rush. “Do that again,” he grits out, mouth next to her ear and his breath hot on her skin. She does. He groans and Rukia clutches at him, digging in hard - trying to match the grip he has on her. His hips snap forward again and she feels the telltale coiling in her gut and the leak of his power as he loses his grip on it.

His _reiatsu_ comes boiling out of him when he drags her over the edge with him - his teeth in the join of her neck and shoulder - and Rukia surrenders to the maelstrom.

“Heh,” Ichigo says eventually, and lifts himself off her. Rukia arches an eyebrow. He’s regained his grip on his _reiatsu_ , and it seethes under his skin, a roiling current of sparking energy. Rukia’s sits once more in the centre of her breastbone, the chill of it radiating through her skeleton and yet, it is somehow not cold at all.

Ichigo drops back into her desk chair, all sprawling limbs and a panther’s grace. His hair is damp at the temples, and Rukia pushes herself up to sitting. A report sticks to her skin, and she peels it off, tossing it behind her. The rest of her paperwork is in shambles; their combined release has destroyed any semblance of order.

Rukia sighs, and tugs together her _shihakushou_. She slides off the desk. Ichigo looks up at her from the chair. He yawns hugely, and Rukia grins. “C’mon sleepyhead,” she says, prodding him in the soft part of his gut. “Let’s go home - you need to feed me dinner.”

“ _I_ need to feed _you_ dinner?” Ichigo splutters, and Rukia laughs. She steps into _shunpo_ and he races after her into the night.


End file.
